


My Humble Help

by apliddell



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Johnlock, F/F, Femlock, First Kisses, Important haircuts, Johnlock - Freeform, Lesbian Johnlock, Lesbian Sherlock Holmes, fem johnlock, lesbian john watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 22:16:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13599546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: Cut it off. Start fresh.





	My Humble Help

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Candle_For_Sherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Candle_For_Sherlock/gifts).



“Sorry I’m late,” John appears at my elbow as if by magic, sounding rather frazzled and tugging on the edges of her cap. 

“Too late, in fact,” I tell her, pleased for the chance to sidle away from Lestrade, “I’ve just solved it. It was. Not challenging.”

John grins up at me, “Too bad. Let’s be off, then. It’s freezing out here.”

“All right,” raise my collar (didn’t notice the cold til she mentioned it) and dig into my pockets to pull on my gloves, “Dinner?”

John hesitates and pats the bobble on her cap, “Shall we order in? I’m knackered, and I’d just as soon eat at home.”

Shrug, “All right, then. Fine with me.”

“Great, let’s go.” 

…

Hang my coat on the hook by the door, then turn to John to take hers, “I’ll have that and your hat as well.”

“Erm,” John passes me her coat, but hesitates over her hat, fiddling with the fuzz of the bobble. “I’ll just. Er.”

“John?” Raise an eyebrow and look her over carefully (snipped off hair ends clinging to her collar and neck are conclusive but there are other signs also). Lean in and sniff at the ends of her hair (sharpish ends) where they stick out from under her cap, “That’s not your shampoo I smell.”

“I haven’t borrowed yours, if that’s what you’re on about,” John’s cheeks colour as she mumbles her retort, and she tucks her hands behind her back (avoiding touching her hat like she had before)(hiding tells are just as much of a tell). 

Try and sound kind, “Let’s see it. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”

John glares from under her cap, which she’s pulled down so low that it meets her grumpy eyebrows, “I haven’t said anything is as bad as anything, so you can stow your pity, thanks.”

Shrug, “Fine, live in your hat; I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable that way. I’m going to get changed. Think about what you want to eat.”

John looks a little chastened, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to show me, if you don’t want to.”

“No, may as well get it over with.” John pulls off the cap. The haircut is worse than expected. Significantly. Close at the nape and shapelessly floppy at the sides with painfully short fringe. 

“Oh.”

John pulls her cap back on, “I know. I look. I look like.”

“A cocker spaniel.” 

She snorts, “Yeah, that’s it exactly. I look like a fucking cocker spaniel.”

Steeple my fingers in front of my mouth, “Who did this to you? You didn’t go to your usual person, did you?”

“No, Em was off sick today, and there was this new person who had a cancellation so she could fit me in, and she kept insisting she was going to make me look like Carey Mulligan.” 

“Why did you let her leave you like that? She might have taken off,” reach out and tweak one of John’s hair flaps, “these bits.”

John groans and crams her hat back on her head, “I know! But I was already so late to meet you, and I just couldn’t stop cringing. I just wanted that maniac and her scissors away from me as soon as possible. I can’t go into work like this! And I can’t text Em tonight, when she’s already told me she’s ill.” 

“Hmm,” run my fingertips under John’s hair again. “It’s sort of growing on me actually.”

John glares again, “I’m ever so pleased my misfortune amuses you.”

“You might let me trim it up a little. I’ve got a steady hand, and a hairdresser friend of mine taught me how to cut my own back in uni when I was skint.”

John’s face brightens at once (flattering but rather intimidating as well)(sometimes I think she thinks I can do anything)(definitely flattering but also definitely terrifying), “Would you really?”

“If you don’t mind my trying,”

“Well you can’t make it worse!”

Laugh, “Famous last words.”

…

Phone for food while John bustles around getting haircut supplies. When I’ve finished on the phone, John’s sat in a chair in the centre of the sitting room with a towel round her neck. There’s a side table next to the chair with a brush, a comb, a hand mirror, and a sharp pair of scissors on it. 

As I approach, John peeps round at me over her shoulder, “Ready?”

“Yes,” sink my fingers into her hair, “Are you ready?”

John leans back slightly into my hands, “Mmhm, go on.” 

“Right,” flex my fingers in her hair, and John sighs (try not to shiver). We are quiet as I snip away at John’s hair. After a few minutes, I step back out of the little halo of hair ends to check for evenness. 

John fidgets under the towel, “How’s it looking?”

Blow a bit of hair off the blades of the scissors, then off the back of my hand (it clings to my dressing gown, and I decide to leave it) “Erm. Better. A bit better. But that er. Wasn’t a very long trip.”

John giggles sort of nervously, “Not especially. Shall I just have a look, then?” I hand her the mirror, and she raises it to her face and fingercombs critically, her mouth ajar (her tongue is very pink, and I have to look away for a moment). “Thanks, Sherlock,” her voice has a note of finality. 

“But?” 

“There’s really nothing for the fringe, is there? Can’t glue it back on.”

Grin, “No, I’m afraid there are no unhaircuts.”

John nods resolutely, “It’ll have to come off, then. Want to finish me off?”

“Do I-sorry what?”

“Let’s just take it all off, shall we? Can I borrow your clippers?” John ruffles her hand through her hair, leaving it standing on end. “Will you help me? Would you mind? You neaten yourself up a bit between haircuts, don’t you? The under bit of your undercut, I mean.”

“Oh, yes. I do. Okay, yes. Of course I’ll help you.” 

“Brilliant, thanks.” John links an arm through my elbow and tows me into the bathroom. 

...

The clippers hum companionably as I pass them over John’s scalp. We don’t speak, but it’s a hammock of a silence, and we are easy in it. Mainly I keep my eyes fixed on John’s hair, but each time I glance up at the mirror, she’s watching me.

I can feel the heat of her skin through her hair, now. Makes me go a bit funny inside; it’s so intimate. I rather want to shut my eyes (I don’t, of course)(John’s coiffure is in my hands; it is a sacred duty)(ought I say that aloud? Would she like that?)

“It’s quite a compliment you let me do this. You’re not worried I’ll make you look silly. I’m flattered.” 

John blows a loose bit of blonde fuzz away from her lips, “I already looked silly. And you’re good with silly. Of course I trust you.”

“Good with silly?”

John adopts a lofty posh voice, “‘Pardon me while I satisfy myself as to this floor.’” She bounces an eyebrow triumphantly at me in the mirror. 

“I don’t do that!”

“You said that word for word when we did the thing where that guy got et up by the snake.”

“One bite, John. Hardly et up. And Helen needed me; I couldn’t just neglect the floor.” 

“Of course you couldn’t,” John reaches back and pats the bit of me she can reach (lower thigh, just above the knee). “That’s what I mean. Good with silly.”

Sigh (for many reasons…),“I do the needful, John.” 

“I know,” says John gently. “That’s my point.” She pats again, “I’m not making fun.” 

John’s hand lingers on my knee until I reply, “Oh.” Lick my lips. “Say more about that. I’m still not sure I understand.”

“You do things because you need to. Because they’re. Right. Even when they’re a bit silly. So it looks good on you.” 

“Oh. Thank you.” 

Our eyes meet in the mirror again, and John smiles, “You’re welcome.”

…

“Touch it,” John says rapturously, sinkinging onto the sofa next to me, and bending her neck to point her crown at me. 

Set my lemongrass soup on the coffee table, “Er. What?”

“It feels so good. Touch it,” John passes a hand over her golden bristles in demonstration. “It’s all soft and lovely; touch it.” 

“All right,” Reach out to cup the back of John’s head in my palm. 

John shuts her eyes, “Oooooooh.” She hugs herself (there’s gooseflesh forming on her arms)(seems indecent to look, somehow). “Does it still feel that good to you?” 

“Mm?” toss my head to flip back my undercut, and run my fingers over my buzzed scalp. Can’t help shivering a bit myself. “It was quite difficult to stop touching it the first time I did it. I don’t think about it as much now.” 

John cups my head the way I had cupped hers and brings her hand round to stroke the buzzed off part of my head. Shut my eyes and bite my lip to swallow a sound that would certainly have been obscene. “Yours is sort of velvety, your skull,” John murmurs after a moment. “Mine feels sort of silky. I think mine is maybe a bit longer than yours, still. Feel it again?” 

I obey, “It is silky, yes. Very silky.” 

John rubs my head a little more firmly, “It feels a bit like. My thoughts are closer to the surface. You know? Bit vulnerable. Am I easier to deduce now?”

Look gamely into John’s seawater eyes, and my face begins to heat, “No, not especially.” 

John wets her lips, “Not at all? You haven’t deduced what I’m thinking?”

“I. I don’t know. I don’t think so.” 

“Try again,” John’s voice is as soft as her hand in my hair and she draws me closer til I can feel her breath on my face. “I wish you would, Sherlock. I really wish you would.” 

I shut my eyes. I kiss her. John blows a soft sigh against my cheek and clutches me a little tighter, and even if we can’t quite hear one another’s thoughts, I think at least we can feel them.


End file.
